


Are You Still Mine?

by whatkindofladyareyou



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofladyareyou/pseuds/whatkindofladyareyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after arya gets back to Westeros, set on the Wall, Gendry's a smith for Jon<br/>written cause i wanted to try and expand on the angst between these two<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gendry

It’s always warm in the forge, even all the way up here on thewall. On a regular day, it’s the one place where Gendry can work away his frustrations. But today is not a regular day and every time he brings down his hammar on the soft steel, it sings Arya, Arya, Arya. Every sword he plunges into the cold water, every breastplate the takes shape under his hands stinks of her. He works until his hand is shaking, then pushes himself even further, until the hammar slips from his hand and falls on his foot.

 

Cursing, he backs away from the fire and leans against the wall. His eyes close for a brief second and she’s there, looking down at him in that stupid dress Stannis had made for her. She didn’t look like herself.She looked like a proper girl. Especially when she called him Ser Waters, like he had never been anything else to her. Like they hadn’t been friends. 

 

As mad as he was that she didn’t even have to decency to be dead so he could stop thinking about her, he couldn’t help noticing how much she had changed in Braavos. She was more wild than before, more dangerous, but she was also beautiful. He kept telliing himself to see Arry, or Weasel, or any version of the little girl she used to be, but that girl was gone. She was a woman grown, one that he didn’t know. 

 

And doesn’t want to, damn it, he thinks, slamming his fist into the wall. The months smithing for her brother had made him stronger, but that wasn’t going to help him forget the wolf girl, no matter how much he strained his muscles. “She didn’t even like that dress,” he mutters to himself, trying unsuccessfully to banish the image of her breasts rising as she inhaled. “She never liked dresses and courtesies.”

 

Being Lady Stark, the wolf maiden of Winterfell, meant she had to wear dresses again, and act nice, and hide Needle. It also took her away from him, and he was glad for that. He knew bastards were lustful and full of sin, and he didn’t want her near him. He didn’t much want to find out whether he really wanted to kiss her or kill her. 

 

It’s getting lighter outside. He’s worked the night away. It’s better than the alternative. Tossing and turning and dreaming about Arya had never done him any good, even when the dreams were about her dying and him failing to protect her. Whenever a different type of dream had snuck in, he always woke up sweating and berating himself for thinking that way about a child, even though she had never really been a child in the dreams. It had always been his vision of the woman she would grow up to be.

 

Now that he’d met that woman, all he wanted was to forget her. She was more highborn than before, if that was possible, and he would always be the stupid bastard she used to be friends with. His eyes caught the wolf’s helm he’d made for her, the first night he’d spent in Jon’s forge. Back then he had been sure she was dead. Which was better than married, in any case. The helm was for a ghost. He’d known the real Arya would never wear it. He’s positive she never will as he finally lays down on his cot and lets sleep, and dreams of his wolf girl, take him.


	2. Arya

Arya jumps off her horse, absently running her gloved fingers through Nymeria’s fur. It had taken Jon a long time to agree to let her go beyond the Wall to the Godswood, and Nymeria had no small part in convincing him. Jon knew how protective the wolves were of their owners, and he still didn’t believe she could take care of herself. No one did. She had come back to Arya Stark just to be shoved into dress after dress and paraded around like she was just a pretty picture. 

She supposed that was true now. She wasn’t Arya Horseface anymore, and she had chosen to take back her name. Everything had consequences. Today she’s in her usual trousers and tunic, Needle sheathed around her waist, and she feels like herself. The old tree looms in front of her. Arya has never been very devout, but the trees belong to her family, and she could never lose them here.

She goes to her knees in front of it, staring up at its face. Its crying face seems very appropriate today. Time passes without her being aware of it, and pretty soon it’s midday. The quiet Godswood has taken away her restlessness, and for the first time since finding her brother she feels like she knows what she wants next. 

The forge is warmer than she remembers when she walks into it. Of course, she’s only seen it through Nymeria’s eyes, but the warmth is still shocking. She takes a few steps into it before Gendry walks out of a back room. He’s wearing a vest and baggy pants and his eyes shine when he looks at her, if only for a brief moment before he drops to his knees and mutters a rushed m’lady.

She’s had time to get used to people calling her that, but it sounds too cruel coming from him. Still, she lets it go. She has to. Jon needs Arya Stark, not some silly girl with a silly Needle. “I need a new sword,” she says, remembering why she came here. 

“I don’t imagine ladies have much use for swords,” he says, standing up. 

“They don’t. I do.” She wishes she could read his expression as he looks down at her, but he’s as confusing as he ever was. 

“What kind of sword?” He asks, clearing his throat.

She pulls out Needle and hands it to him. It looks hilariously small in his hands, like a child’s toy. Her waist feels naked without it, but if she has to give it to anyone, she’s glad it’s him. “About as long as Needle, but thicker, and heavier. I was wondering if you could reforge this one.” She pulls out the other sword she brought with her and sees his eyes widen as he exchanges it for Needle. 

“This is Valyrian steel,” he whispers, running practiced fingers along the metal. 

She nods. “It used to be Ice, my father’s broadsword. The Lannisters split it in two. I don’t know where the other one is, but…” He swings it through the air, marveling at the sharpness of it’s edges. “Can you make it…fit me?”

His eyes return to hers. “Can’t say I’d know how to start, m’lady.” 

She can feel the years of separation in his words, as if they’re tangible things. For a second she lets herself think that maybe he missed her as much as she missed him. “Gendry…”

“I’ll try,” he says, lowering his eyes to the floor. “If you’ll give me about a week.”

He won’t look at her again, so she swallows the lump in her throat and hands him Needle. He takes the toy and it feels like she’s giving him a piece of her. Needle was Jon and Bran and Rickon and Sansa but it was also the little girl she used to be before she learned to kill. The girl who could be friends with a bull headed bastard boy.  
\----------------------------------------------  
Needle is the first thing Arya sees when she slams her door behind her five days later. She runs to her bed, picking up her old friend and wishing she could use it to tear the dress she’s wearing. The frills and lace are choking her more than any hand ever has. She sets it down carefully, eyes finally falling on the transformed Valyrian sword. The grip is perfect, and Gendry has somehow made it weigh less, so that she can barely tell she’s holding it. It’s a gorgeous piece of weaponry, but what draws her eye more is what’s lying next to it. 

At first she thinks it’s a bull, but the snout’s all wrong, and it doesn’t have horns. Besides, the bull’s helm is wrapped in the sparse belongings she’s accumulated since she left Braavos. No one knows about it but her. No, this is a wolf’s helm. She slips it on as easily as if it was a crown. And for her, it is. Her own crown, one that doesn’t demand being less than what she is. Her hands are shaking when she takes it off. There is no doubt in her mind where it came from, but she can’t understand why Gendry would make this for her.

She tries to go talk to him, but there’s always something to distract her. It’s getting dark by the time she can break away. The fire plays on the snow outside the forge. It looks so welcoming, after staring at a sheet of ice all day. He’s banging away at a piece of steel when she walks in. His eyes drift over her,but he keeps banging away. 

She leans against the wall and waits for him to finish. The dress she’s wearing seems very out of place, even though there’s dried snow over half of it. This is a place of steel and fire and weapons. Finery doesn’t belong here. She’s trying to sink into the wall when he looks up again.

“Something wrong with the sword, Lady Stark?” His voice is low and raspy.

“No, it’s perfect.” She walks forward and pulls the bull’s helm out from behind her. “I just wanted to return this.” 

He drops the hammar and takes the helm, looking lovingly down at it. “This was the first thing i ever made for myself. Where did you…?”

She shrugs. “In the riverlands. The Mountain had it.”

“The Mount…You came back to kill them.”

“I came back because I couldn’t be no one.” The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. “I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell,” she adds as an afterthought.

She can feel his grip through her furs as she turns to leave. There’s hurt in his eyes when he looks down at her. She doesn’t know why, but it makes her insides twist. “What are you doing, Arya?”

“I’m-“

“You don’t know what they were saying about you,” He plows on, finally dropping his hand. “The Wolf Bitch of the Riverlands. The whole North was obssessed with your legends. You killed the men that terrified them for months and now you’re…You’re…” As he struggled to find the words he needed, his fists clenched around the bull’s helm. He was angrier than she had ever seen him. There was fire in his otherwise calm blue eyes. “This isn’t you.”

“The North needs—”

“The North needs something to give them hope. After Theon and the Bastard of Bolton and…even Stannis. The North is broken, Arry. They need the real you.” He called me Arry, she thinks. It doesn’t sound like a boy’s name, though. It sounds like a nickname. 

“It’s a shame I’m a girl then, isn’t it?” She spins and dashes out of the forge before he can answer. She’s learned how to do her killing in secret. She can’t be a warrior of the North any more than she could be Lady Stark. She came back for her name, only to find that here she could truly be no one. The dresses and the wolves and the murders, they were all a mummer’s farce. 

“I’m Arya Stark,” she says, pacing the length of her room. “I’m Arya Stark.” She doesn’t believe it. If she could, she would have marched straight to Winterfell and taken it back. But she had no army, and she couldn’t hold it by herself. She was useless here, a shadow of who she had been just a few weeks ago. A twinkling jewel catches her eye. She rips it off with a low growl, and pretty soon the whole dress is in pieces. She stands in her empty room, panting and staring at the blue mess she’s made. 

She puts on her trousers and sheaths Needle, gathering up as many pieces of the blue material as she can. When she finds Jon, he’s dining with Melisandre and a few men, both wildings and black brothers. She hestitates, but still bursts into the room. All eyes turn to her as Nymeria bounds over from where she was playing with Ghost. 

She puts the dress fragments down in front of Jon. Specks of blue shine in the red woman’s eyes when she turns her attention to it. “It’s not me,” she says, staring straight at her brother. “It never will be.” Melisandre chuckles, but otherwise the room remains silent. “Nymeria,come,” Arya says, bowing her way out.


	3. Chapter 3

_"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell." The words echo in Gendry's head over and over."Arya Stark...Of Winterfell...Arya Stark..." He gets up from his cot and dips a washcloth into the bucket of cold water he always keeps on hand. It's almost freezing, but it can't banish his thoughts. "Stark...Winterfell..."_

_"Shut up!" He yells, throwing the cloth at the wall. It falls to the floor in a pathetic mess. He buries his face in his hands and runs them through his hair. 'I'm losing my mind', he thinks._

_She's there when he turns around, leaning against the wall, wearing a bright purple dress. Her brown hair shines in the light of the fire. It's curled now, and it's been washed recently. He laughs hysterically and strides over to her.  
"Why are you here, Lady Stark? This is no fit place for you." The words come out in a low growl. She looks up at him wide eyed, and for a second he feels guilty for talking to her like that.  
"Rip it," she says, so quiet he's sure he's heard her wrong.  
"W--"  
"Rip it off me." Louder this time-he wasn't mistaken before. "It burns, and..." Her fingers claw at the pretty cloth. "It'll kill me," she says, looking up at him with her wide grey eyes. Days of forced courtesies and feverish dreams play over and over in his head. Then there's a flash of red, and he's slammed her against the wall.   
The second her mouth opens under his there's nothing gentle about him. He scratches at her skin and yanks the dress away until it's just her, all sinewy limbs and skin softer than he could have imagined.   
He doesn't have time to think about what he's about to do as they fall onto his bed and she arches into him. His clothes fly off and suddenly her skin is on his and he thinks his heart will burn out of his chest.  
She moans his name as his hand runs up her thigh and he wants to kill her for being able to do this to him. His fingers slip inside her. She gasps and she's already so wet and she's here and she's with him and...Her legs lock around him and he presses against her sooner than he means to, but it doesn't matter anymore because he can finally..._  
Gendry jerks up in bed, panting and sweating. _A dream. It was a dream,_ he thinks. He's clenching fistfuls of his sheets and thinking about using his hand, but he's done that before and it never solves anything. He's hard a few minutes later, and feels pathetic on top of that. There's no new metal to pound, and even if there were, his muscles are still aching.   
He can still hear Arya faintly asking him to rip off her clothes. He knows he was dreaming, but it's the same room, and he's lying in the same spot she had been two seconds ago. He passes the quiet hours until morning replaying the subtle parts of his dream and listening to the Wall creak.   
When the sky lightens he finally relieves himself, knowing he has to get up and won't get to wallow anymore. The morning goes by slowly. He gets a few orders for swords and snaps at the cook when he goes for his breakfast. By midday, his head is throbbing and all he wants is to crawl back into bed.   
He's considering doing just that when he hears two black brothers talking outside the forge. "...steal her in the middle of the night. Them wildlings are bold, I'll give 'em that much. Walks into her room with just a knife."  
"You think the bastard'll put em on a tighter leash now? He let 'em run wild for months."  
"They attacked his sister, he has to. Though to hear him tell it, she gave as good as she got."  
Gendry walks out of his forge and up to the men. "They attacked Lady Stark?"  
"Lookit this one, all proper. She can't hear you here, laddie."  
The second brother rolls his eyes and turns to Gendry. "Last night. One of the wildlings crawled into the castle and tried to steal her. She slashed open his face and almost cut off his arm. Some of the men are saying she kneed him so hard in the balls he's still purple."  
"Wolf bitch is back, you ask me. Found she didn't like them dresses after all."  
Gendry nods and walks back into the forge, trying to breathe. She wasn't a little girl anymore, he knew that, but she had been asleep when he crawled into her room...He slams his fist into the wall, wishing it was the wildling's face. His face was slashed, and he was probably in pain, but that wasn't enough. Not for attacking her.  
He spends all day trying to come up with an excuse to see her. There's nothing good enough, so after dinner he just walks up to her room and knocks. She opens the door and steps back immediately, dropping Needle when she recognizes him. There's a bandage on her arm and he can tell she hasn't slept well. "You're...Are you okay?"  
"It's a scratch," she says, pulling down her shirt to cover as much of it as she can.   
He steps forward into the room and she closes the door behind. "You're not wearing a dress."  
"Decided to stop with those," she says, sitting down on her bed. He follows her, perching as close to the edge as he can, because then he's not actually on her bed. "Jon's putting guards on my door. I told him it's not worth it, but he won't listen."  
"You can't fight when you're sleeping Arya."  
"Says who?" He chuckles, and she smiles lightly. "I suppose i should thank you. For reminding me who I was." He nods. "How did you end up here?"  
"He's your brother. And I thought...Since I lost you to the Hound...Anyway, i couldn't take care of orphans all day, I needed a forge." She smiles and looks down at her hands. The Arya in his head whispers rip it off, and he has to spring off the bed. "I'm glad you're safe, Lady Stark." He barely touches the handle when something hard hits him in the back of the head. "Ow!" he says, turning around and rubbing the spot where the wolf's helm had hit.  
"Stop calling me Lady Stark,"she says, standing up and picking up the helm.  
He smirks, remembering another time she had asked him that. "As m'lady commands," he says. The helm catches him square in the chest. He starts laughing as he starts to feel the hit. "That was unladylike," he teases, ducking out of the door and down the hall just as she lunges for him.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell." The words echo in Gendry's head over and over."Arya Stark...Of Winterfell...Arya Stark..." He gets up from his cot and dips a washcloth into the bucket of cold water he always keeps on hand. It's almost freezing, but it can't banish his thoughts. "Stark...Winterfell..."_

_"Shut up!" He yells, throwing the cloth at the wall. It falls to the floor in a pathetic mess. He buries his face in his hands and runs them through his hair. 'I'm losing my mind', he thinks._

_She's there when he turns around, leaning against the wall, wearing a bright purple dress. Her brown hair shines in the light of the fire. It's curled now, and it's been washed recently. He laughs hysterically and strides over to her._

_"Why are you here, Lady Stark? This is no fit place for you." The words come out in a low growl. She looks up at him wide eyed, and for a second he feels guilty for talking to her like that._

_"Rip it," she says, so quiet he's sure he's heard her wrong._

_"W--"_

_"Rip it off me." Louder this time-he wasn't mistaken before. "It burns, and..." Her fingers claw at the pretty cloth. "It'll kill me," she says, looking up at him with her wide grey eyes. Days of forced courtesies and feverish dreams play over and over in his head. Then there's a flash of red, and he's slammed her against the wall._

_The second her mouth opens under his there's nothing gentle about him. He scratches at her skin and yanks the dress away until it's just her, all sinewy limbs and skin softer than he could have imagined._

_He doesn't have time to think about what he's about to do as they fall onto his bed and she arches into him. His clothes fly off and suddenly her skin is on his and he thinks his heart will burn out of his chest._

_She moans his name as his hand runs up her thigh and he wants to kill her for being able to do this to him. His fingers slip inside her. She gasps and she's already so wet and she's here and she's with him and...Her legs lock around him and he presses against her sooner than he means to, but it doesn't matter anymore because he can finally..._

Gendry jerks up in bed, panting and sweating. _A dream. It was a dream,_ he thinks. He's clenching fistfuls of his sheets and thinking about using his hand, but he's done that before and it never solves anything. He's hard a few minutes later, and feels pathetic on top of that. There's no new metal to pound, and even if there were, his muscles are still aching. 

He can still hear Arya faintly asking him to rip off her clothes. He knows he was dreaming, but it's the same room, and he's lying in the same spot she had been two seconds ago. He passes the quiet hours until morning replaying the subtle parts of his dream and listening to the Wall creak. 

When the sky lightens he finally relieves himself, knowing he has to get up and won't get to wallow anymore. The morning goes by slowly. He gets a few orders for swords and snaps at the cook when he goes for his breakfast. By midday, his head is throbbing and all he wants is to crawl back into bed. 

He's considering doing just that when he hears two black brothers talking outside the forge. "...steal her in the middle of the night. Them wildlings are bold, I'll give 'em that much. Walks into her room with just a knife."

"You think the bastard'll put em on a tighter leash now? He let 'em run wild for months."

"They attacked his sister, he has to. Though to hear him tell it, she gave as good as she got."

Gendry walks out of his forge and up to the men. "They attacked Lady Stark?"

"Lookit this one, all proper. She can't hear you here, laddie."

The second brother rolls his eyes and turns to Gendry. "Last night. One of the wildlings crawled into the castle and tried to steal her. She slashed open his face and almost cut off his arm. Some of the men are saying she kneed him so hard in the balls he's still purple."

"Wolf bitch is back, you ask me. Found she didn't like them dresses after all."

Gendry nods and walks back into the forge, trying to breathe. She wasn't a little girl anymore, he knew that, but she had been asleep when he crawled into her room...He slams his fist into the wall, wishing it was the wildling's face. His face was slashed, and he was probably in pain, but that wasn't enough. Not for attacking her.

He spends all day trying to come up with an excuse to see her. There's nothing good enough, so after dinner he just walks up to her room and knocks. She opens the door and steps back immediately, dropping Needle when she recognizes him. There's a bandage on her arm and he can tell she hasn't slept well. "You're...Are you okay?"

"It's a scratch," she says, pulling down her shirt to cover as much of it as she can.

He steps forward into the room and she closes the door behind. "You're not wearing a dress."

"Decided to stop with those," she says, sitting down on her bed. He follows her, perching as close to the edge as he can, because then he's not actually on her bed. "Jon's putting guards on my door. I told him it's not worth it, but he won't listen."

"You can't fight when you're sleeping Arya."

"Says who?" He chuckles, and she smiles lightly. "I suppose i should thank you. For reminding me who I was." He nods. "How did you end up here?"

"He's your brother. And I thought...Since I lost you to the Hound...Anyway, i couldn't take care of orphans all day, I needed a forge." She smiles and looks down at her hands. The Arya in his head whispers rip it off, and he has to spring off the bed. "I'm glad you're safe, Lady Stark." He barely touches the handle when something hard hits him in the back of the head. "Ow!" he says, turning around and rubbing the spot where the wolf's helm had hit.

"Stop calling me Lady Stark,"she says, standing up and picking up the helm.

He smirks, remembering another time she had asked him that. "As m'lady commands," he says. The helm catches him square in the chest. He starts laughing as he starts to feel the hit. "That was unladylike," he teases, ducking out of the door and down the hall just as she lunges for him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Does no one have the audacity to take on Lady Stark?" Arya yells to the crowded training ground. Black brothers and wildlings alike shuffle nervously but no one speaks up. Melisandre is watching over everything with cold red eyes. Arya's covered in furs, but the red woman stands in a thin red dress, and nothing else. Her presence is making the men nervous. Or it could be the wildling whose nose she's just broken.

"It's only a wooden sword,you won't bruise too badly." The men look at each other. She can't tell if they're scared of hurting her or scared of being hurt, but if someone doesn't volunteer soon... They start moving to the side, clearing path for someone. _Finally,_ she thinks, as Gendry grabs a wooden sword. He smirks and raises it. 

"Let's see what they taught you in Braavos, m'lady." She grins and lets the title infuriate her like it used to. It feels amazing being back in her element. She swings at him, just getting a feel for how he fights. He's a lot stronger than her, but his swings have a sort of brutish grace to them. 

She can't defeat him by strength alone, so she makes him work for every blow, dodging and weaving and laughing when he misses her. He learns as much as she does as they take and give, and he even manages to wind her a few times. But she can tell this is still just a game to him. He's holding back. "Oh come on! Fight like a man, Ser Waters!" She says, knocking aside his sword.

"I will when you will!" he teases. His eyes widen as she attacks in earnest, forcing him to dance the water dance she knows so well. The technique surprises him, but he adapts quicker than she expected. Her hand shakes as she catches his blow. She'll lose soon if she can't find...He goes to attack, and she sees her chance. He loses his footing as she knocks the sword out of his hand. 

"You're dead, boy," she says. His hands rise in surrender and he grins up at her. She returns the smile and offers him a hand. 

"Lady Stark!" He says, raising her hand in victory. The men clap and start to volunteer in earnest. Gendry stays to watch, and she catches him smiling from time to time. An hour later, Arya decides she's had enough. She shakes hands with the less bitter members of the crowd and steps out of the circle. 

"You got better," Gendry says, matching her stride.   
"I'm just quicker than them, and they're too eager to smash." He smiles and she realizes she's proud of herself. Not for beating those men, but for impressing him. "You were good too. You're more graceful than them."

"Graceful?" he asks, eyes shining. They've made it back to the forge. 

"You know how to move. You almost had me a few times back there."

"Wouldn't say that publicly if I were you. They're starting to admire you." He starts to pile wood into the fireplace.

"You think the North will? When I go back to Winterfell?"

He nods, holding his hands out over the fire. She steps in front of him. "They'll follow you."

She bites her lip and stares into the flames. "I never wanted it."

"What?" he asks. The fire dances across his face. She remembers the way the whores used to look at him. For a moment, before she kicks herself for thinking like Sansa, it hits her how handsome he is. 

"To be a lady," she says. "To be married off to some lord and made to bare his children and die in a holdfast..." He starts to laugh and she pushes him back with both hands, as angry as she'd ever been. "It's not funny!"

"Yes it is!" he insists, still chuckling. "The thought of you as just some lord's daughter is hilarious." He holds her chin up when she starts to bow her head, making her look at him. "Arya, you didn't ask me to make you a Valyrian sword just because it'll look nice in your chamber. You're as far from a lady as you can get."

"My last name is still Stark." She wants him to tell her it doesn't matter, that she's been a lot of people in the last few years and she doesn't have to be a Stark if she doesn't want to, but she doesn't believe it herself, and he doesn't say it. 

"Aye, it is," he says, dropping his hand. "That's why the North will follow you. You'll charm then with your name, then cut them down if they think less of you because you're a girl."

"You make it sound like I already have their allegiance."

He shrugs. "You'll get it easily enough." She starts to protest, but he cuts her off. "They'll follow you as easily as I will, you'll see."

"You left." She thinks he won't remember, but his face clouds and she knows he has.

"I left. To be better. To do some good. You were being ransomed, what else was I supposed to do? Go work for your brother and get my head chopped off by the Freys?"

She shoves him back hard, sending him hurling into the wall. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she doesn't want to hear it. She runs out of the forge and calls to Nymeria. The wolf finds it's way to her room as Arya enters it and nuzzles into the girl's side. She buries her face in the wolf's fur, trying to drown out Gendry's voice. 

She knows he had just been angry, or frustrated,but that doesn't stop the words from hurting. When she hears the voices outside her door there's a dried tear on her cheek. Just one. It's all she would let herself shed for Gendry, and for Robb. 

"Look here you won't get in without Lady Stark's..."

She whips her door open just in time to see one of her guards push Gendry back. "I'm not armed, you idiot, i just need to talk to her!"

"Well she didn't..." The guard sees her and drops into a bow and a rushed 'm'lady'.

The other one steps to the side and asks if she knows Gendry. "I know him," she says. "Feel free to chop off his head if he keeps bothering you." She starts to close the door, but Gendry lunges forward and pushes it back.

"Arya, I'm sorry!" he says as the first guard draws his sword. 

She looks around him to the guards. "He's not dangerous, he's just stupid." The two men look at each other, roll their eyes, and get back into position on either side of her door. 

Gendry steps forward and starts apologizing again. She ducks around him and closes the door, knowing full well that there'll be rumors about them in a few hours. She doesn't care about that right now, not as much as...

Her fist slams into his face. He stumbles back, hand flying to his face. When he looks at her again, his lip is bleeding. She's panting, but the anger has already started to seep out her at the sight of the blood. His tongue darts out to lick the blood away. 

Her eyes widen. He looks...different than he did two seconds ago, back when his tongue was still in his mouth. She's thinking like Sansa again, and she needs to stop, so she digs into her palm with her fingernails. The pain makes everything sharper, including Gendry, who's whispered 'I'm sorry' again. 

She lets her fists relax. "He's my brother. Don't do that again." He nods. She's not really angry anymore, but it's better that he thinks she is. 

"I'm stupid, Arry, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was saying."

"Just...He was my brother." She won't let herself cry here, not in front of Gendry, and not when she still hadn't gotten her revenge for how Robb died.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry." They stare at each other for a while. She wants to yell at him, but she can't when he's looking at her like that. She doesn't know what to say. The right words won't come, not even when she tries to think like Sansa again. Her sister would always know what to say. All Arya can do is hit him. 

He moves to the door, and she thinks maybe she doesn't need to say anything after all when he whirls around and hugs her. Her first instinct is to pull back, but his hands are locked around her, and he's warm and every second she stays a tear that's begging to fall goes away. "I'm sorry," he whispers in her ear. 

She feels more out of place than ever, but still seems to know what she wants to do. Her hands close around his neck and she squeezes. He squeezes back, until she can't breathe. She catches his scent as he pulls away. He smells like fire and steel and home.

He smiles and she knows she'll forgive him in the morning, for today and for becoming a knight. He dances around her for a few days, but pretty soon they're back to how they were when she was Arry and he was just a bull headed bastard boy.


	6. Chapter 6

Gendry walks into the dining hall. It's almost empty. The only people inside are Jon, Melisandre, Tormund, a handful of black brothers, and Arya. This is what passes for her going away party. Tomorrow she's leaving for Winterfell with a handful of Stannis' soldiers. She's supposed to hold the castle while Stannis goes south to deal with the newly landed dragon queen. The Northern lords have given a few additional soldiers to her.

She looks really happy when he walks up to the table and bows. Jon nods at him and turns back to Tormund. Arya walks around to him and pulls him into a deserted corner of the hall. "Have you sworn any vows yet?"

"I...No, why?"

"Come with me. I don't trust that Stannis will give Winterfell away so easily and I don't trust his men."

"But you trust me?" He asks, smirking. 

She slaps his arm halfheartedly. "You're better than the rest of them. So will you come?"

He shrugs. "I can bang swords out anywhere." There's more to that, but neither of them says anything. Arya is pulled away by Tormund, who's been trying to convince her to join the wildlings all night, and Gendry goes back to his forge. It doesn't take him long to pack his things. They're in a bundle within minutes and then he's sitting on his cot staring down at his helm. 

His head was full of dreams of knights and battles when he made it. He'd seen enough knights to last him a lifetime, but he still loved the helm. It was the only thing he had ever been proud of. Nymeria padded over to him, nuzzling his hand. He reached up to pet the direwolf. It was taller than him, seated as he was, and ferocious to boot. 

"Where is she, girl?" he asks. The wolf snaps her jaws and two seconds later Arya's walking through the door. Gendry grins and ruffles Nymeria's fur. 

"She's too excited to sleep."

"Would that be the wolf or you?"

"Both," Arya says, walking over and kneeling on the floor. Nymeria sits down in front of her, putting her enormous head in the girl's lap. "I think she knows she's going home." Arya looks over at the helm, biting her lip. Gendry's hands tighten around the horns of the metal bull. "I won't get to wear mine unless i find a battle."

"There are dragons in Westeros. There won't be a shortage of battles." His voices comes out lower than he wants it to, but Arya's sitting in front of him and there's fire in her eyes, and she keeps biting her lips. It seems like a travesty not to talk quietly. 

"You don't think they'll just give up and swear fealty to her? She has dragons."

"They see themselves as kings. And she's a girl. No, I think they'll fight." She pulls her lip into her mouth again, and he forces himself to keep talking. "Which king do you think will win?"

She sighs, and Nymeria bounds off , distracted by something she hears outside. "I'm sick of kings," she says. 

"The Dragon Queen, then? She does seem...better."

"Did you hear what she's been doing in the free cities? They call her the Breaker of Shackles. She can't be that bad, can she?"

He shrugs. "It never really bothered me what king was ruling. It never mattered." 

She crawls over and sits next to him, resting her head on her raised knees. "Jon says your father was the king."

"Which one?" he asks, chuckling, even though he's heard the rumors too.

"Robert. He said that's why Stannis wouldn't legitimize you. You have a better claim, even if you were a bastard."

"AM a bastard, Arya."

"What does it matter anyway? It doesn't make you a bad person."

"Maybe it does. People say bastards are sinful, and lustful, and vengeful and a whole host of other things."

"So is everyone else." He looks over at her. She's staring straight ahead, long hair tied in a braid. 

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" She finally looks over at him.

"Make me feel like it doesn't matter where I was born."

She scoffs. "It doesn't."

"The rest of the world doesn't seem to think so."

"So?"

He shakes his head and smiles. "You shouldn't talk like this."

"When have i ever done the things I should?"

"Arya, you don't know what you're..."

"No, I wouldn't,would I? I'm just a silly girl." She stands up and starts for the door. There's only a split second to think about what he's doing, but it does no good. He made his decision years ago. She pulls away when he reaches for her. He grins and weaves a hand around her waist, spinning her around and slamming her into the wall. 

Their lips meet for a second before she shoves him back. "You..." She's breathing hard, but he can't tell if it's from anger or something else. His decisions seem so silly now. He could have ruined everything he just got back. "You stupid, bull headed boy..." She pushes him back and follows, throwing her hands around his neck. He falls back on his bed and she straddles him.

He can't help laughing when she pulls away. She starts smacking his arm over and over, and he stops laughing long enough to choke out quick 'sorry'. "Arya," he says, sitting up. "I'm sorry, but you don't know how long..." He shakes his head and pulls her down to him, smashing their lips together. “Years…” he mutters as her mouth opens for him.   
\------------  
Arya doubts anything like this has ever occurred to Sansa. Her prim and proper sister would never find herself writhing beneath a sweaty armorer in his forge. But Arya's never been like her sister. Sansa's disapproval is the last coherent thing she can remember thinking about before everything turns into Gendry and his tongue. Every time he inhales he lets her fight him with her own, but he's better at this than she is. 

His thumb grazes her nipple for a second, then moves down her stomach. Time slows down so that every second lasts forever. She gasps as he pushes a finger inside her. _Gods, how could anything feel this good?_ she thinks when he starts to pump slowly. His name falls from her lips before she can bite it back. He presses kisses to her neck and adds another finger, like one wasn't already driving her crazy. 

A feeling she can't describe starts building up inside her. He grins, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth. Her eyes fly open and she digs her fingers into his arm as something in her explodes. She moans and arches into him, legs absently locking around him just to pull him closer. The moment's over too quickly and then there's just her rapid breathing and his soft laughter. 

"It's not a dream," he murmurs when she finally relaxes. "It's really you." He takes her hands in his and pulls them over her head, weaving his fingers through hers. "I never got this far before," he whispers, kissing her softly. 

"And now is when you chose to stop?" She makes herself smile when all she really wants to do is bite her lip, because she knows he's not going to stop. 

"Fuck you too, Lady Stark," he says, making her laugh. There's a small second of pain when he slips into her, but that's gone by his third thrust. She tries to move her hands to his lower back, but he won't let them go, so she settles for locking her legs around him again. His hips are broader than she expected. Every piece of him is broader than she expected.

She knows she's out of her element, but the back and forth reminds her of swordplay, and pretty soon she doesn't need him to guide her. She grinds her hips against his. He groans and leans down to kiss her, moving their hands beneath her head. His eyes flutter open and he rests his forehead on hers. She bites at his bottom lip, annoyed that he stopped kissing her. 

He smirks and brings their lips together, increasing his rhythm. A moan rips through her as she peaks again. She breaks away and bites into his shoulder to keep from screaming. His hands tighten around hers as his seed spills inside her. She climbs on top of him when he leans to the side, falling back when her head starts swimming.

He makes a small tired noise of protest and his legs rise, bringing her up with them. She doesn't bother opening her eyes. He stays still for few seconds before sitting up and pulling her to him. 

"You have to find some moon tea in the morning," he says, tangling his fingers in her hair. She mumbles her agreement, burying her face in his neck. The forge has gotten cold by now, but Gendry's warm. His hands trail up and down her back, making her skin prickle. 

"You're so stupid, Gendry," she says, opening her eyes and pulling back. "I've been back for months."

"You've been a Stark a lot longer." She bites down on her bottom lip. He's never forgotten her last name. When he helped her remember it, it was useful but now it's... He's running his thumb along her bottom lip and that insufferable smirk is still on his face. _Maybe I can make him forget my name_ , she thinks, falling back down to the bed. 

Five hours and and two more times happen before the sun starts coming up. Arya's curled into Gendry , sharing his warmth and drifting in and out of sleep. The whiny of a horse wakes her up completely. Gendry's chest is still rising and falling evenly. His hand moves up and down her waist. 

He's more gentle in his movements than she would have expected, but it doesn't bother her. If it was anyone else she would have been offended, but it's Gendry. He knows more about her than just her name. "We've got to leave soon." He sounds like he's been sleeping, but she knows better. He's been awake almost all night.

"I better go find a maester."

"Mmm. Then you should go."

"I should go," she repeats. Saying it out loud doesn't help. Gendry groans and sits up, leaning in and kissing her. 

"Go, wolf girl. We'll have time when we get you home." She grins and straddles him to get off the bed, making him groan again. Nymeria pads back in as they're pulling on clothes. The wolf looks at Gendry, then throws back her head and howls. Arya and Gendry laugh at the same time.


End file.
